


Sherlollipops - Truth Unspoken

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [166]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Parentlock, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6527095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>anonymous asked: Are you still taking prompts from that list? I would like the 23 for Sherlolly. That one is free so: Things you said when you were angry at me (Sherlock is the angry one). Thanks!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - Truth Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> So this is sort of a remix of my story “Hidden Truths” with a lot of angst this go round. Apologies for that in advance, but I think people know my writing well enough by now to realize how this will eventually shake out, right?

“When were you going to tell me?”   
  
His voice is a low, threatening growl; Molly stiffens at the unexpected sound of it, here in the St. Bart’s changing room two years after he jumped off the roof and she helped him fake his death. She looks up and sees his angry face reflected in the mirror attached to her locker door. “I wasn’t,” she admits quietly, not bothering to protest that she doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Of course she does, and of course he knows she does.   
  
She turns to face him, stepping away from the locker, not wanting to feel trapped between it and him; as she moves he reaches out with one hand and slams the door shut. She winces at the loud noise and inadvertently glances over his shoulder toward the door to the corridor. It’s shut and she knows he’s locked it without asking. “You weren’t,” he says flatly, his eyes glittering with rage in the muted lighting, his hands twitching at his sides as if he wants to reach out and shake her - or do something worse.   
  
He notices the slight flick of her eyes toward his hands and deliberately folds them behind his back. She doesn’t miss the flash of disappointment in his eyes as he says, “Really, Molly? You think I’d raise a hand to you? Ever?”   
  
She shakes her head, denying the reflexive truth before sighing softly and hugging her arms to herself. “No, of course you wouldn’t. But when a man is as angry and, and hurt as you are right now…”   
  
“I’m not hurt,” he say quickly, and this time he’s the one denying the truth, she can read him well enough for that even after two years apart. He must recognize this because he hurries on, his voice low and intense. “How could you possibly believe I wouldn’t find out? Or didn’t you realize that Mycroft has known from the start that your ex-fiance isn’t the father?”   
  
She flinches at that reminder of Tom, to whom she’d quietly returned the ring he’d given her only a few months after accepting it. She’d discovered her pregnancy after the two of them had been dating for a few months, and his proposal had been offered on impulse, as her acceptance had been. “Tom knew too,” she says, in case Sherlock thinks she lied to the other man. “He just…he thought we could make it work and so did I. I broke it off when I realized I…was wrong.”   
  
_ Was still in love with you,  _ she means, but does not say. Such words, no matter how true, will only ring hollow in this moment.   
  
She looks at Sherlock, still seething with anger and the hurt he won’t admit to, and wishes now she’d made different choices from the start. But she didn’t, and so here they are, face to face with what feels like an unbreachable chasm between them.   
  
One she knows she must be the first to brave. “Sherlock,” she says, her voice quiet but steady. Just as steady as her gaze. “You were dead. You were dead to the world, and on a dangerous mission. Look how long it’s taken you to come home!” she says, her voice rising as she sees his intention to interrupt her. But she will have her say, she’s determined on that. “Two years, Sherlock. Marion is fifteen months old now…”   
  
“And had I known of her existence, I can assure you, Molly, I would have made my way back that much sooner,” he says, breaking in despite her attempts to talk over his objections. “Good God, Molly, I was being tortured in Serbia when Mycroft finally decided he’d waited long enough and came to drag me home! He showed me her pictures…” His voice breaks a bit and he turns his head, composing himself, taking a deep breath for turning back to her and continuing in a lower voice. “Surveillance pictures, of course, but also ones he took from your mobile, and your sister’s mobile. She looks like me, Molly, except for the brown eyes. Exactly like me. Do you honestly think you could have gone the rest of her life not telling either of us who her father was?”   
  
Molly shakes her head helplessly. “I didn’t think that far ahead,” she admits, feeling some of her certainty - her rock-solid belief that keeping this secret was the right thing to do - faltering. “I just…I didn’t want you to worry, or feel burdened or be distracted. I didn’t want you to feel…obligated.”   
  
There. It’s out in the open, her deepest insecurities laid bare and confessed to. She’s been selfish and afraid, afraid that if she’d told Sherlock about the baby, his reaction would be anger or worse, indifference. Well he’s certainly angry but about as far from indifferent as possible. A misjudgment on her part, but who could possibly blame her?   
  
He can, apparently, and does. “Molly, you know me, or at least I thought you did,” he snaps out, biting off each word as if it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Which perhaps they do. “When have I ever allowed myself to do anything out of obligation?” He steps closer to her, his hands once again by his sides but no longer curled into half-fists. “When I slept with you before going off to dismantle Moriarty’s criminal network, that wasn’t out of any sense of obligation or gratitude. I told you that.” She looks away and his lips twist into an unhappy shape. “You didn’t believe me.”   
  
“I wanted to believe you,” she tells him earnestly. “But I was…I was afraid to.” There, she’s admitted it.   
  
“Afraid,” he repeats, shaking his head in disbelief. “Of what? That I was lying to you? Molly, I have never lied to you. Ever. I might have had ulterior motives for things I’ve said to you in the past, but they were never lies.” His stance and expression soften a bit as he gestures toward her hair, which she’s parted on one side. “Your hair does look better this way. Lipstick does make your mouth look larger. And when I said I wanted to be with you, that I wished I hadn’t waited until Moriarty pushed me into a corner to tell you how I felt…I meant it.”   
  
Every word is like a blow. Molly hears the truth and the pain in his voice, sees it in his eyes now that he’s finally decided not to hide it from her behind his anger. His entirely justified anger. Tears prickle in the corners of her eyes and she reaches out, an aborted gestured, as if to lay a comforting hand over his. “I’m sorry,” she whispers as one tear slides from the corner of her eye. “I just…it’s not you I didn’t believe in, Sherlock. It was me. I truly couldn’t believe that you’d want to be with me, at least not for anything long-term. And being a parent is about as long-term as it gets.”   
  
“That’s not all, though,” he presses her, and loath though she is to admit it, he’s right.   
  
She closes her eyes tightly and shakes her head. “What if you become part of her life, and realize being a father doesn’t suit you? What if you get bored or tired of the normal everyday responsibilities, someone clamoring for your attention when you’re trying to focus on a case? What if you need to go chasing after criminals but it’s Marion’s birthday or Christmas? What if…”   
  
“What if you’d married that idiot fiance of yours and he faffed off with another woman on your fifth anniversary? What if he saw so much of me in Marion that he couldn’t stand it and treated her badly because of it? What if the sun stops revolving around the Earth and we all die?” He flaps his hands in irritation, and Molly is hard-pressed not to nervously giggle at his inaccurate depiction of the movements of celestial objects; she sees his point, and it’s a fair one. “Life is nothing but a series of ‘what ifs’, Molly.” He shakes his head and smiles for the first time since alerting her to his presence. It’s brief and wry, but a smile nonetheless. “I’ve always been willing to take chances with my life, Molly, but this time…this time I took a chance with my heart.”   
  
The tears fall heedlessly down her cheeks as she understands the depths of his feelings, how very badly she’s hurt him. “I’m sorry,” she says, and this time she does reach out and rest her hand over his. “I’m so very sorry, Sherlock.”   
  
Unbelievably he doesn’t push her away; instead, he pulls her closer, enfolds her in his embrace. “Take me to meet her,” he whispers, brushing his lips across her forehead. “We don’t have to tell her who I am just yet, I’m sure she’s too young to understand even if we did, but can you please take me to see her?”   
  
She nods against his chest, arms encircling his waist as if he’s anchoring her to the world. “Right away,” she promises. “I’ll text Mike and tell him I’ve a family emergency to tend to.” Which this certainly has become.   
  
His arms tighten around her for a moment, then he steps back and releases her, watching as she fumbles her mobile out of her lab coat pocket.    
  
Five minutes later they’re in her car and on their way to her sister’s house. Molly has no idea how the meeting will go, but she knows one thing: her life, and that of her daughter, will never be the same.


End file.
